


by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so

by kay_el



Category: Leverage
Genre: Crying, Drabble, Eliot-centric, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Queerplatonic Relationships, Team as Family, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_el/pseuds/kay_el
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even brave and true Eliot Spencer can't compress his emotions forever. This is a snapshot, of a dam breaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeathersMcStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeathersMcStrange/gifts).



> Fic originally written for Lexie (aroharveyspecter on tumblr). <3333
> 
> Pretentious english-major title from John Donne's poem "A Valediction of Weeping." The line(s): "Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow/This world; by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so."

Eliot pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes, hard enough to leave starbursts behind his eyelids. He could feel his legs shaking under him, and, making the executive decision to get closer to the floor, slid down the wall until his thighs were pressed against his chest, and he could hide his face in his knees.

His chest was heaving, his heart was racing, and he shoved his hands against his eyes harder, like he could stem the coming tide of tears if he just held them in hard enough.

Of course, that didn't work, and sobs wracked his body soon after, his shoulders trembling violently as he tried to catch his breath (and catch his breath and catch his breath and). Ugly salt water spread against his palms, pooling in the lines of his hands and dripping indelicately down his jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, moving his hands to tug them roughly through his hair, pulling desperately at the roots. He choked on the gasping breaths coming from his throat, like someone was ripping them out of him, and he couldn't stop shaking, his entire body felt like it was lost in its own private earthquake. His eyes hurt from crying, his mouth was dry, his nose running, and he hadn't felt this grossly pathetic in a while.

He coughed, hard, his entire body curling in on itself even more, and ducked his head against his knees, trying to hide his tears from himself. He felt like a natural disaster - no, scratch that. He just felt like a disaster, full stop. His hands wouldn't stay _still_ and he shoved them back against his scalp, fists pulling on his hair as sobs burst out of him. As he rocked back and forth, knocking his back against the wall.

There was a quiet noise - the door opening, from across the room. Eliot would have paused, would have frozen still and pretended to be made of shadows, but he couldn't stop his heaving chest. He couldn't release the tension in his shoulders, or clear the red splotches from his face, and, worst of all, the tears kept coming, they wouldn't fucking stop and he squeezed his eyes shut again, ducked his head as far as he could, and wept with his face pressed into his legs.

"Eliot?"

Hardison. _No, no, god, turn around,_ he thought desperately. That didn't usually work with Hardison, but he thought it anyway.

"Hey, Eliot? Are you okay?" The light turned on, and Eliot winced as his dishevelment became more obvious. "Oh."

"Fuck," he muttered, laughing humorlessly, and ran his forearm across his face, trying to smear away tears and mucus. He shook his head forcefully, ready to- trying to- somehow he would pull himself back, condense himself into Eliot Spencer again. For the sake of his family - this family, this tiny congregation of liars and thieves that he loved- too much, he loved too much.

But, as Eliot rubbed futilely at his red-rimmed eyes, Hardison did exactly what he wasn't expecting. He walked over, quiet, blessedly quiet, and sank down beside Eliot's wrecked form. He had never been so gentle as now, as he so-carefully rested his hand on Eliot's shoulder.

"It's okay," he murmured, and when Eliot leaned into the warm grounding touch of his fingers, he curled them in the fabric of Eliot's shirt, holding them both there. "You don't have to hide from me, man."

Eliot coughed wetly, and swallowed, and took one heavy breath. "Alec," he whispered, breaking through his raw throat.

Hardison hummed softly, thumb drawing soft circles on the curve of Eliot's bicep. "It's okay," he repeated.

His voice was so gentle it broke Eliot all over again, and he sobbed into his hands, horrified and ashamed and overwhelmingly grateful.

"It's okay," he said again, an echo of himself, and Eliot turned his face so he could hide it in Alec's shirt. Hardison wrapped an arm around him and held Eliot's shaking body against his warm, broad chest. So when he spoke again, Eliot could feel the rumble of his voice against his sore face.

"I got you."

And as Eliot's emotions clawed at his insides, as Hardison held him close, Eliot actually (barely) (finally) believed him.

 


End file.
